


That And More

by winter156



Series: Devil Wears Prada Drabbles [4]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2111574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter156/pseuds/winter156
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows "Dust to Dust"</p>
            </blockquote>





	That And More

They were no Romeo and Juliet. There were no grand overtures of dramatic import. There were no feuding families. There were no friends dying. In fact, there was no dying of any kind. With the weight of loneliness and emptiness still present in their minds, compromise was reached with alacrity. The surrender was easier than they expected. Their pride a thing easily given up for love.

They both realized it now. It was love. Needy and obsessive and binding in a way that only love could be, but also full of understanding and respect and affection. There were no longer any ambiguous lines drawn in the sand between them. No ultimatums.

Andrea watched the delicate hand lift the cup to a waiting mouth. Her eyes traced the flex of muscles in the forearm as the hand tipped the cup’s contents into that lovely mouth.

“You’re staring,” Miranda said without looking away from the newspaper she was reading.

“Yes.” Andrea’s smile was almost involuntary. “I like to look.”

The edges of Miranda’s lips turned up in a small, pleased smile.

They were not Romeo and Juliet. They weren’t the immature fledging obsession that held no true weight. They weren’t the childish characters who couldn’t see past their surroundings to the future.

They were better. They were more.

They were the quietness of surety. They were the strength of struggle. They were tested through fire and finer products for the burning of it.

And sitting in a spacious kitchen—that saw more activity in the journalist’s short tenure than in its entire lifespan—Andrea felt the enormity of all they were in the domesticity they shared so casually.

“I love you.” The words shocked them both. But, Andrea didn’t retract them even though she opened her mouth to rescind the statement or veil it in something less direct, less exposing.

Neither the journalist nor the editor moved or breathed for the space of several heartbeats.

“I know,” Miranda finally replied so gently, so sincerely that Andrea heard _I love you, too._

And suddenly, they realized they were all the accumulation of small, everyday things and they were the big things, too. They were better than fairytales and their happily-ever-afters. They were solid and real.

Miranda and Andrea—the editor and the journalist—together embodied all that defined love…and more.


End file.
